The First Duel on Amon Sûl
by Forged In Fire and Flame
Summary: I've always wondered how Gandalf fought against the Nazgul on Weathertop. So I decided to create my own one-shot. Enjoy!


The First Battle on top of Amon Sul - A short story by Forged in Fire and Flame

Gandalf rode long into the day after reaching Bree. His grey cloak flowed behind him as he galloped Shadowfax to Weathertop, an ancient watchtower of the Men of the North. The sun was bright and no animal dared to come close to the riding wizard, for they all sensed his suppressed power. Before sundown, Gandalf finally reached his destination, in hope of finding a short rest among the ruins. But all of a sudden, he stopped, sensing a darkness around the ruins. His worst fears had been proven, the Nazgul, the Nine, Ringwraiths, the Black Númenóreans of old, were there. Steeling his resolve, the grey wizard gathered his inner light and let all within a one-mile radius know that Mithrandir, Gandalf the Grey was here. His anger boiled, and the Istari seemed to blaze with light, a beacon of hope in the darkening times. He strode resolutely forth into the ruins, challenging all nine of the Nazgul. But they felt his anger and power and fled, not daring to face the wizard while the sun was in the sky. But the Captain of the Nine, the Witch-King of Angmar remained. Gandalf, seeing this, raised his staff, channeling his power, through the worn wood to the ground, blasting the Witch-King back. Then he too fled, wailing terribly to his brethren of the change in plan. Gandalf smiled grimly, for he knew that by midnight, he would be fighting for his life. And so, he leaned onto a rock, smoking his pipe, and clearing his mind, readying for the inevitable duel. The hours sped by and all was silent. Then the Nine crept forth, confident in the night, in their black cloaks. They raised their fell swords simultaneously, and shifted into a two handed grip. They walked without a sound, surrounding the wizard. But he paid them no mind, but murmured lost words of power, into his staff and its headpiece. The Ringwraiths raised their swords, and began to stab downwards. Then, the wizard's eyes snapped open and he once again slammed his staff into his ground and blasted them away. His eyes then blazed with a hidden fire, and his staff glowed in the night sky. The old wizard summoned a light and lit his staff raising it before him and striding towards the Nine. But light alone was not enough to stop the terrible Ringwraiths and a Nazgul took his opportunity to strike while their opponent's attention was away. The fell man stabbed, and just when it seemed that it would pierce the wizard, he whirled around and blocked the attack with his staff, gliding away and no longer seeming like a mere old man. Then Gandalf drew Glamdring, the sword of King Turgon of Gondolin, the Foe-hammer of old. With his trusty staff in one hand and Glamdring in the other, he attacked. And so began the deadly dance. One against nine, all of them twisting and turning, clashing their swords, creating sparks each time. They traded blows for what seemed like days, the old wizard in his deadly dance, whirling around with the terrible combo of his staff and sword. And the Nine, taking turns, thrusting and blocking again and again with their spiked swords. The Witch-King of Angmar rushed forwards towards the wizard's back while he was occupied with another of the Nine. Just when his sword pierced the grey cloak of the wizard, Gandalf turned around and stopped him in his tracks with his power. But the wizard, after hours and hours of the same, seemed to tire, running low in his reserves of power. But he summoned one final flame and lit Glamdring up like a bonfire. He clashed swords with each one of the Nine one last time and the fire ran down their sword onto their cloaks, and screeching the Nine ran about crazily. And Gandalf then summoned one last burst of light, which penetrated the darkness and wrote a quick message. The Nine screeched once again at the brilliant light and covered their eyes. And when they uncovered their eyes, the prey was gone, the old wizard in his robes of gray, riding away to Rivendell on his steed and friend Shadowfax, the Lord of all Horses.

"I galloped to Weathertop like a gale, and I reached it before sundown on my second day from Bree — and they were there before me. They drew away from me, for they felt the coming of my anger and they dared not face it while the Sun was in the sky. But they closed round at night, and I was besieged on the hill-top, in the old ring of Amon Sûl. I was hard put to it indeed: such light and flame cannot have been seen on Weathertop since the war-beacons of old.

'At sunrise I escaped and fled towards the north.'

As Frodo lay..., it seemed to him that far away there came a light in the eastern sky: it flashed and faded many times... The dawn... was still some hours off.

'What is the light?'...

Strider answered, 'It is too distant to make out. It is like lightning that leaps up from the hill-tops.'...

For a long while Frodo could still see the white flashes...

On the top they found..., a wide ring of ancient stonework, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. But in the centre a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were blackened as if with fire. About them the turf was burned to the roots and all within the ring the grass was scorched and shriveled, as if flames had swept the hill-top..."

**-Excerpts from the Fellowship of the Ring**


End file.
